Of the White Winged Dove and her Fair Rooster
by Mighty Crouton
Summary: A conversation with Revolver Ocelot and The Boss. MGS3.


Between the White Winged Dove and her fair Rooster

**TITLE:** Of the White Winged Dove and her Fair Rooster  
**SONG:** "Would" by Alice in Chains  
**AUTHOR:** Alyxandria Jolivet  
**RATING:** G  
**CONTENT:** It's squeeky clean  
**GENRE:** Mental Trip  
**SUMMARY:** SPOILERIFIC: I loved Revolver Ocelot's origins. If you haven't played through MGS3: Snake Eater than I highly suggest you avoid this fic unless you enjoy spoilers.

Anyways, this fic reflects a 'What if?' situation. What if the Boss did have a conversation with a certain Ocelot? A conversation that stemmed beyond duty and into the past? Here we go.

When I think of Metal Gear Solid, I think of a lot of Alice in Chains. I don't know why. But I do. So I thank Alice in Chains for being awesome inspiration in the making of this fic.

**: Of The White Winged Dove :**_  
Know Me Broken By My Master__  
Teach Thee On Child Of Love Hereafter__  
Into The Flood Again__  
Same Old Trip It Was Back Then__  
So I Made A Big Mistake__  
Try To See It Once My Way__  
- Would; Alice in Chains_**  
: And her Fair Rooster :**

Pools of ice twitch back and forth in idle boredom as that pearl-bleached gloved finger casually tests the trigger of her unloaded Walther PPK.

The response was the same. A firm, sharp sound of the spring that echoed inside that empty barrel. Strange, that such a silly, perhaps even annoying sound would ease Joy's mind. Firearms always did comfort her, at an almost maternal level. They protected her, rescued her numerous times. They were a way to relieve stress, set her mind at an ease, and even made her feel.. powerful. Guns gave The Boss a god-like ability, the power of choice over a human being's life. How she could easily take it, how she could simply walk away. So simple to pull the trigger and end it all... so simple to draw the weapon back and slip it into her coat. So.. very... simple..

Click... click... click...

It was a choice, one the Boss had used numerous times in her life. The judge of life or death... Oh the ability to choose whether one must live or die. The sheer power of that single decision used to be honey-flavored and sweet, ecstatic at some level, if you will. But lately this power of choice over life has been a recurring nightmare. She chose to forfeit her life for the country she loved, and that choice was far from joyous. She chose to kill her husband for political reasons, and that was hardly ecstatic. And perhaps the choice she regretted foremost was letting the Philosophers rip her child out of her womb and use him for their own twisted purposes without questioning nor raising any voice of resentment.

Lately... choices have been kind of painful.

Click.. click...

"So... do you like scotch?"

The question was a simple and unexpected cry for focus. The Boss raised her head, peering sideways at the man who had entered the vicinity of the private bar, his stride proud and bold... with a little swagger, head kind of tilted to the side with hands in constant animation. She pursed her lips and braided her fingers, resting a delicate chin over the weave of her hands with the gun dangling by the loop of its trigger guard from a propped thumb. "I don't drink."

One lithe brow raised in surprise, hands sweeping a heavy duster back as the stroll matured into strides, heavy boots clapping against the unswept floor as he collapsed into a chair just a seat from the right of where she was, elbows pressed into the greased surface of the bar as he hummed. "...Really? See... I am a scotch ma-"

"-If there is one thing I can't tolerate, it's a liar." The Boss warned, her voice picking up a certain cruel tone despite its warmth. She paused for a moment, sensing the awkward silence she had just caused in relation to her insulting statement, swallowing hard while collecting herself.

"...Well... err... I'm sorry." The young man peeled himself off the seat and turned off to the side, shifting his weight in a relaxed pose off a bent knee as he raised both hands into fake guns, "I have things to attend to..." Winking once and shooting the air, he turned on his heel to leave The Boss to her own devices.

"Wait... Ocelot," The Boss grasped the air as her voice beckoned the young spy. She turned her gaze downcast and dropped the small gun, watching it bang the counter once then twice before its weight and gravity made a pact to keep it in one place. Bridging both arms over the weapon, she looked down at the silver casing before continuing. "I know who you are."

Revolver Ocelot paused, his mind fishing with multiple retorts but coming back empty handed. A gloved hand raised, fingers encased in fabric stroking a smooth chin as he measured and weighed the woman's tricky words. "...Well, ma'am. I most certainly hope you would by now. I am one of the best, the top of the team, and the sharpest shooter in Mother Russia. Forgive me for being so bold, but how could you not know who I am?" An arrogant smirk crossed pretty lips, twisting his attractive features into that scoundrel appearance the company had associated him with. "Now... if you don't mind.."

The Boss smiled, her lips softly upturned before her words came uninterrupted. "I remember when I was just like you... thinking war was a big game, thinking that I was the top of that game." She leaned back, tracing the young man's figure with eyes dulled from experience, observing him from afar. "It's odd, watching you... the way you lift your hands and flick them like that... I thought I trademarked that brash carelessness, that pride..." A hand picked up her jaw, supporting a tired head as she gazed circles into the bar infront of her. "Don't lose that, Ocelot. Take my advice, as a woman whose evidence is a heart broken from experience. Don't depend on anyone. Not anyone. Depend on yourself, first and foremost. Always yourself."

Revolver Ocelot paused, turning around then leaning the weight of his upper body against the frame of the door. Hands swept over his holsters, picking out the .45 calibur's and rotating them midair by the trigger guard. "You are beginning to sound like my mother."

"Heh..." Boss pressed a hand quickly to her lips as she stopped the tears from coming, biting her finger so the pain might shortcircuit the emotions circulating into the pit of her stomach. She breathed hard, the sound rasped through her lungs as she focused on what had to be done and ignored what she wanted to do. "...I'm glad you say that."

Slip... flip... twist... rotate. Again.. again... again. "...Well, you are probably a better person than she was..." The Russian seemed more concerned with his juggling than he was with the conversation, eyes focused and face plastered with concentration as he whipped each gun into the air and caught it gingerly. Ever the one to enjoy talking about himself, Ocelot indulged in the conversation with further unnecessary detail accounting his life, "I never knew her. She died when I was born."

Joy nodded, combing a finger idly through platinum blonde hair and smoothing a loose strand behind her left ear, "She sacrificed her life so you could live. She was a true patriot.."

"Yeah..." Ocelot muttered off handedly, fingers twitching triggers, and greeted by that same comforting hollow click.

"... I gave birth once," The Boss continued as her stomach churned in its eternal unrest, staring blankly at the Russian boy. "...I lost him. It was in the war. He'd be about your age, I think."

"Yeah, well, with war you have to expect casualities. No sense thinking everything's going to have a happy outcome," Ocelot muttered nonchantantly as he slung a weapon around his waist and caught the barrell with his teeth before spitting it into the air again. "Sacrifices have to be ma-.."

Ocelot's words were cut short as the back of The Boss's hand slammed into the face of one tender cheek with a distinct SMACK. Both guns spilled onto the ground, their rhythm lost and Revolver's eyes wide with anger and confusion as the woman glared circles into his infuriated gaze.

"I died that day, Ocelot." She stared at him, jaw twitching with teeth grinding against opposite ivories. Salty tears formed in the corners of her eyes, her face flushed red. "I don't expect you to understand what it means to sacrifice everything you love for something that has become a complete disappointment."

He glared at her, his pride melting and ego splitting as The Boss crushed his arrogance with a slap and a few words. Fingers pressed into the tender flesh, his head still ringing bells and whistles from the surprise attack and mind flooded with negative feelings for this woman.

"...I know who you are," The Boss continued, her voice softening under the strain of maternal desire. "When I look in a mirror, it is your reflection I see blinking back. I am already bound and restrained by honor. It's not too late for you to avoid the pain and sting that comes with that warrior's code." CONTINUE "Be the person I couldn't be, but I ask that you be that person while still adhering to the principles of war. Do not kill the unarmed. Do not torture the innocent. Learn restraint, but only on your own terms.. no one else's."

He stared at her with new eyes, blinking blue and flesh still hot from the assault on her part. "... I will try..." It felt out of character for him to agree to this, but instinct asked that he should. It felt... right.

The Boss smiled, her eyes tracing the boy's figure and drinking in his appearance. "Tomorrow morning a man will meet you at the abandoned research facility. He will ask you who the patriots are and you will answer..."

"...La li lu le lo..."

"Good boy," She pressed a hand to Ocelot's cheek and tenderly patted the bruising area. "See. I know who you are... and now you know who I am."

"No. No I don't," He hushed under his breath, green eyes twitching back in forth in circular motions as they swallowed her. "I don't know why they call you the joy, I don't know why you are here, I don't know if I should trust you..."

She looked downcast, that smile still curiously clinging to her features like a faint nuance as she searched for words that weren't coming quickly enough. "...That's not particularily important. What's important is that I am here, that you are here, and that we've had a chance to meet. Now go, any more time wasted here is time that would be more productive elsewhere."

Revolver Ocelot smirked, the upturn of lip ruining his sweet appearance as he turned, sweeping both hands across the floor as he gathered his pistols. "Whatever lady... until next time..." The Boss mimiced his lazy hand animations behind his back as he walked out, crossing her hands across her chest as those eyes never failed to watch him sway with each eased saunter, admiring his figure... features... everything and cursing how he was ruining that potential. Sinking back into the stool screwed into the floor a few inches away from the counter, Joy plucked the Walther PPK and returned to clicking that empty trigger and accepting the hollow reply as a welcome answer.

"...Until next time, my Adamska."

**Author's Notes:** Personally, I think The Boss KNEW Revolver Ocelot was her kid in the game. Her interactions with him were too motherly not to make that assumption. What would Revolver Ocelot think if he knew The Boss was his mother? Considering his character, I don't think he would've given a rat's ass. Maybe he would've felt that much more arrogant about himself knowing he was the child of WW2's greatest soldier, but I honestly don't think he would have loved her like she would have him. He lost the ability to care about anyone else other than himself. He's selfish that way.

Assuming The Boss did have this conversation with Ocelot, you'd have a better understanding why Revolver becomes a wellknown traitor and more of an independent kind of guy. When you look at the kind of pain The Boss had to endure due to her loyalties for America, one would only imagine that she would want to protect her son from that kind of pain.


End file.
